


Risk

by bookworm03



Series: Adult Relationships [3]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Best Friends, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/pseuds/bookworm03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wyatt's not the guy who takes risks - especially not with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk

**Author's Note:**

> AU - Leslie and Ben have been best friends since high school and neither can figure out where they stand as adults. 
> 
> Part 3 in this series and can be read as a standalone, but I recommend reading [Coward](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5108507) and [Caution](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5123546) in that order first. 
> 
> The response from this series has been seriously overwhelming. Thank you soooo much to everyone who left their comments and thoughts. It's the reason I kept going with this and probably why I keep getting more ideas in this universe. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.

Ben Wyatt is kind of a coward. His best friend, Leslie Knope, is not. She’s fearless, passionate, and make no apologies for being either. She has big plans and she takes risks. She’s the first to jump up to give a presentation, keeps a genuine smile on her face when concerned citizens complain about too many bugs outdoors, and always knows how to make him feel better. Which is why he loves her. Why he’s _in love_ with her. Totally and completely with every atom that makes him up. He loves talking seriously with her, being silly with her, getting roped into one of her ridiculous ploys like she’s Lucy and he’s a more practical version of Ethel. He hates dancing, but he loves dancing with her because she’s a goofball and always makes it fun. She’s a little insane and a total steamroller, but he can usually talk her down (while Ann just lets her roll away). His mom calls her before anyone else when she hasn’t heard from in a while because Leslie always knows what’s up. She’s sweetness and light, sunshine and optimism. If he was on his death bed and they said “Mr. Wyatt, who do you want to see” the answer was always her, _always_. Her eyes, her smile, her soft blonde hair. He’d go happily - well, not happily, but gently - into that good night holding her hand. 

She knows some of this, but not how deep his feelings cut. He tells her loves her often (not so much now, she has a boyfriend) and she returns the sentiment with a happy smile, but she holds back. There’s a little part of her she always holds back. 

She doesn’t know there’s a piece of his soul carved out just for her. 

She tells him her news over waffles at JJ’s. Sitting in her booth, whipped cream piled high, her next bite poised carefully on her fork while he stuffs some omelet into his mouth. 

“He wants me to move to San Diego with him.” 

Ben chokes on his omelet. 

“ _Dave_?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“What…wait, _what’s_ happening?” 

“Dave’s moving to San Diego because his reserve unit - ”

“Yeah, I know that part. Get back to the part where you’re moving to San Diego with him.” 

“I’m not!” she fidgets. “Or I’m…not yet. I’m thinking about it.” 

Holy fuck, the room’s spinning and Ben’s fairly certain he’s going to puke the contents of his stomach all over the floors of JJ’s. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t…

“You can’t be considering this.” 

“Why not?” She lifts an eyebrow and her blue eyes hone in on him, brow furrowed, squirming against the vinyl. Ben blinks in disbelief. 

“Uh…are you serious?” 

“Why can’t I go?” She demands, her nose crinkling with consternation in the exact same way it has since the day he met her in tenth grade English. 

Now she’s glaring, waffle still a few inches from her lips. She repeats the question. 

_Because I love you and I want you here_? 

He couldn’t say that. If anything, that might push her away. She’d hate to think she was leading him on. Tears would fill her eyes and she’d stroke his hand affectionately and slide her fingers between his and say she was so sorry he misread the situation and she loves him to pieces, as much as she loves Ann Perkins, but no, not like that. 

Well he’s ninety-eight percent sure it’s not like that. 

Maybe ninety-five. Ninety. If he ever got below seventy he would risk it. He would tell her everything, admit how long he’s been feeling this way and ask her to give him a real chance. That’s all he really wants, a chance to try and prove they could be something together instead of two individuals attached at the hip. 

Ben works in percentages. A seventy percent chance of rejection is still pretty risky for him, but for the chance to be with her he’d gamble. His Risk Management professor would be horrified to hear this, but he would do it. 

“Ben,” she snaps. “Why not? I love him and he makes me happy and - ”

“You’d move for a guy?” he retorts. It’s kind of a low blow, but it’s all he’s got and he knows it’ll get the wheels turning. He knows implying she’s doing anything - sacrificing any part of herself and her career plan - for a man will flip a switch in her brain that will at least buy him some time. 

“Leslie, Pawnee is your home. You love your job, you love your friends; you told me two weeks ago the only time you’d move would be to live in the White House and even then you’d probably split your time between DC and here.” 

She’s going to annoy the crap out of Secret Service when she’s President. 

Leslie deflates and he sees the understanding set on her features. 

“It’s what people do, adults, couples, they make sacrifices for each other. He has to go and he wants me to go with him because he wants to be with me.” 

She can’t know how he feels, otherwise she wouldn’t keep reminding him of the fact that they’re in love and happy. Dave’s a cop who might not know much about politics but he dotes on her and would probably do just about anything for her, including _asking Ben_ (who stuttered a lot, it wasn’t his finest moment) to recommend some reading materials Leslie might like to discuss after their second date. 

Oh god, he doesn’t want to ask what comes next, but it slips out anyway. 

“Fine, okay, but,” his fingers dart across the table towards the hand not holding her fork. It's easy to touch her. She's generous with her affection and his body moves in before his mind can even wonder how appropriate it is. “I guess the question is do you love him and want to be with him more than you want to stay here and…run for office, or run the Parks department or…whatever.” 

“It would be temporary.” 

“You missed Pawnee every minute you were in college and that was temporary. You have a choice now.” 

His thumb is stroking a small patch of skin and he feels more than hears her sigh. Fuck, he’d tell her how he felt now if he thought it would make her stay. He'd do anything to make her stay.

“You could visit me. You and Ann, you guys don’t hang out enough anyway for my two best friends. You could come out and we could go surfing - well I could, Ann could, you’d probably burn. You can sit with Dave under an umbrella.” 

Ben snorts, but doesn’t let go of her hand. He’s picturing her glowing in the San Diego sun with a plethora of freckles and hair almost white-blonde. 

“Adorable. With a glob of sunscreen on my nose.” 

She giggles. 

“You could still call me to watch TV with you. And I’d probably come home a lot.” 

“You…” they’re basically holding hands now. He’s not much for taking pictures but he wishes they had a camera following them for moments like this. In these moments they look like they're a couple to anyone who doesn’t know better. He could make her a scrapbook of photographic proof why she should be with him from these moments. A compelling argument with evidentiary support was less risky.

“You have to do what seems right to you and if San Diego is where you want to be…with Dave…then…” 

“I’d miss you,” her eyes are brimming with tears and god, he can’t even speak. He coughs and he sputters while he imagines Leslie in some high rise apartment, her stuff mingled with Dave’s and the rest of her furniture and birdhouses in storage. He imagines driving by her house every night on his way home from work and the physical ache being so intense he pulls over just to sob in his car like a complete idiot. 

“I uh,” he squeezes his eyes shut, the back of his throat aching so much it's hard to swallow. “I don’t think there are words for how much I’d miss you” 

They let that hang between them for several seconds. 

“Hey,” she sets her fork down and beams. “It’s Friday. Dave’s gotta work tonight and I just got a new boxset on the Revolutionary War, so I think you should come over and bring me candy and watch it with me.” 

“Oh yeah? How long?” 

“Well,” she shifts. “The first part is at least four hours and there are six parts so you’ll probably have to just stay the night.” 

Only with her does twenty-four hours of Revolutionary War documentaries sound like an amazing Friday night. 

“Ohhhh, well,” his heart’s in his mouth. He thinks of the number of nights they’ve spent together and the number of places he’s almost kissed her. His bed, her bed, her couch, Marlene’s couch, Marlene’s backyard, his dorm room, her dorm room, Ann’s porch, Ramsett Park, the ferris wheel at Harvest Fest, her office, his office…Here. This table at JJ’s. At least once a year from the age of seventeen on. He’s thought about holding her hand like he is now and brushing his lips against hers just to see what she does. 

Why hadn’t he? Too risky. Too much to lose. 

“Dave won’t…care?” 

They hadn’t done this, a night like this, since she’d started seeing Dave. He watches her brow crease as she takes another careful bite of waffles. 

“Of course not. You’re my best friend. He likes you. He understands…” 

Dave is dense about some things, but fairly sharp about others and being a cop, Ben assumes that includes reading people. The odds of Dave not having at least an inkling another guy has it bad for his girlfriend were slim. 

And Dave was a cop - did he mention that? - so he could probably murder Ben and make it look like an accident… 

“You sure?” 

“Seven? Bring pizza and don’t you dare try and sneak a calzone into my house again, Wyatt - ” 

“Hey.” 

Her hand slips away. Ben takes a breath before turning to see Dave in all his uniformed glory standing at the edge of the table between them. 

“Hey!” Leslie smiles brightly and Dave sets a palm on her shoulder and bends down to peck her cheek. 

“Hey,” Ben sits back and feels his cheeks strain in a ridiculous, unnatural smile that probably looks more like a grimace. 

“Sorry to…interrupt. You just left a few things at my place last night and I thought you might need them,” he dips down to whisper whatever these things are and Leslie’s cheeks tinge pink. Gross. Ben wills his side of the booth to become a singularity and swallow him up. 

“In your car?” she murmurs. Dave nods. “Are…and I thought maybe you’d want to go for a walk. But no…no rush if you’re still…” 

Ben wants to blurt out _seriously, dude_? because she’s stayed at Dave’s house for the last three nights and he can't even give Ben her lunch hour? 

“Go,” Ben manages to speak, waves her off as he fishes out his wallet. “Go on, I got this.”

“You sure - ”

“Yes. Go. It’s my turn. I’ll see - ” 

“We’ll talk later,” she stands and grabs her coat, holding his eyes for the briefest of instants. These are the moments when he thinks the odds are fifty-fifty she’ll either smack him or kiss him back. Right now, he’s feeling risky, desperate, needing to cling to her. If Dave in his uniform with his gun hadn’t been there he might’ve done it. Stood up, cupped her face and kissed her before she had time to react. As if his lips might be better able to express his thoughts pressed against hers. 

Also, he’s just wondering casually, why didn’t she say she’d see him tonight? 

***** 

It’s a cool evening, the last days of summer; there's the scent of dew in the air and Ben considers asking if she wants to go for a walk after dinner, but decides against it. He selfishly wants to be alone with her and not wonder if every cop in Pawnee is spying on them. He rings her doorbell at 7:06 because she gets annoyed if she rushes around to get ready for 7:00 and he's not there until 7:15, but she’s usually running a little late and appreciates the few extra minutes. Yeah, they've done this a few times. She answers with a big grin in a hoodie and sweats and he offers her the pizza. She inspects for the absence of calzones. 

“Fine, you can come in - wait! Candy.” 

He offers her a bag of her favourites and her grin spreads as she steps back and allows him to enter. 

And just like that, enclosed in the walls of her home, they’re back; she’s back. She snickers and steals a piece of pepperoni, he sticks a napkin to the corner of her mouth using residual sauce as adhesive. She messes up his hair in retaliation. They watch the first hour of the documentary in silence before she pauses it to take in their dishes and open wine, and then they spend twenty minutes discussing taverns, tarring and feathering, and whether or not the narrator’s voice is capturing the essence of the time period (she says it is). 

Around ten she turns off all the lights except for a lamp in a corner, he pulls a quilt from her cupboard and she curls up under his arm and sips her white wine while they’re taken on the midnight ride of Paul Revere. His fingers brush down the cool skin of her arm and he amuses himself for a few seconds thinking about how she's always cool to the touch, but cuddled beside him she’s a ball of heat. An interesting contradiction only Leslie Knope could manage. 

He stops watching altogether by midnight (which is a mistake because she’s going to want to talk about ad nauseam when it’s over), he’s distracted. He drank most of the second bottle of wine and she’s slowly inching her way against his chest and it kind of feels like they're collectively holding their breaths. They’ll both sigh when she finally gets there. He knows it because they’ve done it at least a thousand times and it’s the true signal that for however long they’re there - on her couch, in her bed, or wherever - only they exist. 

She pauses it before she snuggles in completely and yup, they both exhale; a breathy release of everything that’s been bottled up. His mind betrays their bubble quickly though; his vision blurs with no warning as he thinks she can’t - _she can’t_ \- go to San Diego. She can’t love Dave so much that she would uproot everything she holds near and dear for him. She’s Leslie Knope, she’s made to be in Pawnee for as long as she possibly can until she needs to expand her horizons. She can’t leave prematurely for somebody’s else’s reasons. 

“I like it so far,” she whispers. “When I’m President I’ll make it required viewing.” 

“For your staff?” 

“For the country. It’s an important time in our history.” 

He chuckles at her silliness and doesn’t remind her that most kids find just paying attention in history class exhausting. Ben presses his face into her hair and inhales citrus. Bright and tangy, just like her. 

“Tell me the list again,” it sounds pleading in his own mind, but she doesn’t seem to notice, just seals her cheek against his t-shirt and brushes her thumb across his side. He wishes he could see her face, but that would require moving. Instead he just lets the smile in her voice filter through his pores. 

“Tom will be my image consultant.” 

“Of course." 

“Donna will be in charge of the volunteers. It doesn’t sound like it’ll be a good fit for her, but it will be. I promise.” 

“Right,” she promises him this every time. 

“Ann Perkins will be in charge of helping with my health care platform, and also for impromptu dance parties to help me destress.” 

His arm tightens around her without him meaning it to. Logically, he'll be more stressed out for her because he's Mr. Cynical.

“Jerry will…do whatever I tell him to that he can’t screw up.” 

He snorts, thumb of his other hand brushing against her neck. 

“Ron’s in charge of making sure nobody gives me crap and possibly supervising stage and podium construction.” 

They shift somehow and he’s on his back and she’s squished between his side and the couch, face on his shoulder. 

“And me?” he massages her scalp. 

“You’re my campaign manager and you’ll help me with my economics platform, and approve all my speeches, and then you’ll be my Chief of Staff. You’ll just have to get over your fear of cops because we’ll be around Secret Service all the time.” 

“I don’t think the party will want me running your Presidential campaign. There are professionals who do that,” he tells her this every time, but he never gets tired of her answer. 

“I want you,” she tilts her head back and points her finger like an Uncle Sam poster. Her eyes meet his. “You’re brilliant and savvy and fiscally responsible and I wouldn’t trust anyone with my campaign but you, so they can just deal.” 

“The DNC can just deal,” he repeats. It’s so impractically brazen and yes, childish, out of loyalty to him. His chest expands, and Ben remembers why her ascending to the highest office in the land never seems out of reach. People will vote for her because a few encouraging words from Leslie Knope make you feel like you can take on the world.

“Right. Also, it’s not like it’ll be the first campaign you’ll have run, so by then they’ll know how awesome you are and won’t care.” 

He grins and pushes her hair off her face. It's silk between his fingers. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she replies happily. He’s never regretted anything more than the first time he said that to her. They were drunk at a party and he was sprawled on the floor of the bathroom after trying, and then accidentally swallowing, tobacco. She lay there with him, holding his hand and only making a little face when he threw up twice. 

What he’d meant was _I love you, I’m ridiculously in love with you, you’re all I want_. What she took it as was a declaration of affection like she exchanged with Ann all the time. If only he’d waited until the next morning instead of blurting it out like an inebriated moron…He should’ve said it in daylight when he didn’t taste like beer he’d just puked up and kissed her afterwards. She would've understood what he'd meant then, and he wouldn't have been in so deep the thought of losing her terrified him. 

He shifts up onto his elbow and cups the back of her head. Her eyes are a darker shade of blue than usual. That’s always mesmerized him, actually. They’re blue, but the type of blue varies from bright, almost electric, to soft and paler, to this, now, that somehow feels the most intimate. 

His hand slides to her cheek and he whispers, hell, he begs, “Please don’t go.” 

“What?” 

“To San Diego. I mean,” he finds his voice. “If you love him and he’s _it_ then do what feels right. And I know it’s not about me and I’m being selfish, and if going would make you happy then of course I’ll…visit you and and go exploring with you and, whatever. But don’t go unless you can’t imagine your life without him because I really, really can’t imagine my life without you.”

 _It’s now_ , his subconscious tells him. _Now, do it now_. Kiss her, murmur you love her against her lips, tell her you want to be the one to hold her hand until she walks on any stage; that you want to sit on your bed - yours and hers - in campaign t-shirts and go over polling numbers until one of you makes the other put them away because that’s not what bed is for. Tell her you want to marry her and have a family with her and you’ve known this for way too long for a guy (barely) still in his 20s. Tell her she is absolutely, without question, the love of your life and you’ve known that for way too long too. 

_Do it_ \- she would. Declare your intentions, lay it all out there, and don’t feel bad about asking for what you want - 

She’s crying, which interrupts his stream of consciousness. He swipes at her cheek delicately and tugs her up so they can lie back. Crying makes him kind of uncomfortable - his family’s not exactly the touchy feely type - but with Leslie it’s never feels awkward. With Leslie it's an outpouring of emotion more than a way to convey sadness; it’s as if she can’t contain everything she’s feeling and it starts leaking out of her. It’s expressive and endearing. 

“Sorry,” he sighs, his nerve slipping away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...I'm sorry.” 

She squirms and her arms wind around him, her face in his neck. She’s trembling and he engulfs her and tugs the blanket over them. He’s not sure when it happens, but his eyes start to feel heavy and her rhythmic breaths are puffing against his neck, and soon he’s asleep. 

***** 

“Ben,” she hisses, anxiety tinging her words. “Ben, Ben, Ben, wake up - ”

“What’s wrong?” he rubs her back, but it does nothing to settle her. 

“I heard a noise. Out back.” 

“It’s probably just a racoon.” 

“It wasn’t a racoon noise. I know racoon noises, and that wasn’t…” 

“Okay, okay,” he sits up. His jeans are digging into him and he’s regretting falling asleep on the couch. When they’re both single it’s easier. They unabashedly undress and watch TV in bed together and his neck doesn’t hurt in the morning. 

“Should I get my gun?” 

“No,” he rubs his face. “Good lord, no, do not get your gun.” 

She owns a gun. It’s locked in her crawl space and it’s used exclusively for hunting and yes, she’s a great shot, but they’re not breaking out the semi-automatic weaponry because she heard a noise. 

“It’s probably nothing,” he hopes he sounds reassuring. He’s half asleep and whatever it is isn’t inside the house so it’s fine. Leslie’s a little jumpy because this is the most sleep she’s ever had before midnight. 

She clutches at his arm with one set of fingers, the second set tangled through his own. Her nails slice into his skin. 

“I’m sure it’s a racoon,” he insists, even though racoons are totally vicious and terrifying and that shouldn’t be reassuring at all. But it’s not like they were going to open the door and let the racoon _in_ \- 

It’s Dave. 

“Oh my god,” Leslie stares through the sliding glass door before rushing to open it. “Dave! What are you - why are you in my backyard!?” 

“I uh…” Dave’s looking between them and Leslie’s very obviously still holding onto him. 

“I just…I was at the desk and it was slow and I called because you’re always up and when you didn’t answer I uh…I called again a bit later and then you still…you still did not answer so I was…concerned and I…I had to come check something out this way…anyway, and yes…I stopped by and then I…your lights were off and that…that was not your vehicle in the driveway and then I wanted…I couldn’t see through the front…” 

Good lord, Ben's really relieved Dave doesn’t have a key. 

If she moved to San Diego they would share keys and he’d never cuddle her on the couch again.

“I…we were watching a movie and we must’ve fallen asleep.” 

“Oh,” Dave claws at his cheek, eyes beady and still darting between them. “I just didn’t know you were having company, so the…that’s why I was concerned when I noticed the vehicle that was not yours. Otherwise I would’ve knocked…” 

Ben winces, because he’s eighty percent certain Dave knows his license plate by now. 

“H-hey Ben.” 

“Hey,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “I should go anyway,” he doesn’t know which part of his brain decides to say the words, but as soon as they’re out there he wishes he could take them back. 

“No, no, you don’t have to go," she’s touching him again, soft and yielding, her eyes clear now. Earnest. “We’re only at the…” 

She trails off because she can’t remember what they were watching when she paused it and never started it up again. Fuck, she looks so guilty. He hates that for them this was nothing six months ago and now it makes her feel like a bad person. It doesn't seem fair.

“It’s late,” he tugs on her hand and kisses her forehead, wishing he could linger. 

“Ben - ”

“I’ll text you,” he promises. She always asks him to text her when he gets home. Her thumb rubs against the back of his hand as he releases her and offers Dave a little nod, murmuring goodnight before heading into the living room to grab his coat and keys. He doesn’t look back when he reaches the front door. 

***** 

“Knnoooooope!” 

Ben almost falls out of bed when he hears his brother’s voice. He glances over at his bedside clock and groans. It’s 7:15am. Henry was probably on his way to the gym because he’s a freak who can only workout around dawn. 

“Hi Henry,” he barely hears her, which is strange. She sounds tired, which is equally strange. 

“How ya been?” 

“Um, okay, but I just…I really need to see - ”

“You guys boning yet?” 

_Good lord_ he might kill his brother. 

“No!” Leslie sounds scandalized and it stings. A lot. It’s not _that_ ridiculous to think she might want to have sex with him, is it? It’s not like she’s seventeen and Henry’s asking her every single time he sees her just to be irritating…she doesn’t need to sound horrified. 

“I just really need to see him.” 

“He’s still sleeping.” God, had it really only been a few hours ago he’d left her with Dave? It felt like a different world. Ben rolls over, not bothering to see what he looks like as he stumbles out of his room and into the kitchen just as Leslie and Henry enter from the other side. 

She hasn’t changed since he left her. 

“What’s up, buttercu - ”

“I told Dave no and we broke up.” 

She blurts it out, words tinged with desperation and anxiety. The brick in the pit of his stomach starts to erode, and it takes everything in him not to bust into a shit eating grin. It takes everything in him not to gather her up and kiss her senseless with his brother in the room. 

Henry just stares at him over her head. Hard, like he’s telepathically trying to tell him something and they have some brotherly code that will allow Ben to decipher it. Actually, the kind of do. Henry’s thinking if it were him he’d do exactly what Ben's mind is suggesting. If it were him, five seconds from now he’d be carrying her to his bed through the sound of lips smacking and a string of her soft giggles. Henry threatens to punch him every time he brings her up and likes to tell Ben what a stupid fucking coward it is. He’s this strange amalgam of both their parents where he’s considerate and occasionally a pushover like their mother, but irrationally confident like their dad.

“I’m going now,” Henry clears his throat, obviously trying to give him an opening. His brother wouldn’t be thinking about how you shouldn’t kiss a girl a few hours after she breaks up with someone else. Henry never thinks like that. Ben overthinks, Henry overdoes. 

“Sure,” Ben finally studies her face after she’s twisted to tell Henry it was good to see him. The door slams and her lower lip starts to quiver, but her eyes don’t look sad. A softer, paler blue, her eyes scream _relieved_. 

“I can’t go to San Diego,” she sniffles with a shaky laugh. “He’s so nice and sweet, but I just…I couldn’t leave my home.” 

Of course she couldn’t. It would take something massive to make her leave Pawnee and a guy would never be that. 

“B-but,” she swallows. “I still am a little sad and I’m really sorry if you left last night because you felt like you did something wrong. We still have three more parts of that docu-series to watch and…” 

“My bed, my clothes, my shower and my whipped cream are yours. For as long as you want them.” 

“Thanks,” her voice is husky with exhaustion. “I brought whiskey to put in the coffee.” 

He laughs quietly, finally closing the distance between them and pulling her into him. Her small arms snake around his waist and his around her back and it’s perfect. She’s not going to San Diego, she’s staying. Officer Dave won’t share keys with her and Ben can cuddle her freely again. 

Fuck, he’s a horrible person. He’s so happy when she's sad. 

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll find you new clothes and make breakfast, and then we’ll spend all day consumed by the Revolutionary War.”

 _And you. My sheets will smell like you again._ That might’ve been the worst part of her dating Dave, waking up to the smell of Downy around him instead of her. 

“We should probably watch that last hour of part one again. You were snoring through most of it - ” he tickles her and she cackles and flails. Henry would say he should totally kiss her now when she’s playful and in his arms. 

But he can’t risk it. He’s not brave like her or foolhardy like Henry and he won’t risk losing this. He won’t jeopardize the chance to ever hold her like this again because she doesn’t feel the same way. 

“I’m…” it comes out strained, choked, and when she looks at him he knows his eyes are shining, but it doesn’t matter. He might not be able to tell her straight up how he feels, but there can be super obvious tears because he’s just so damn happy she’s staying. 

She smiles gently and palms his cheek and he chuckles back and swipes at his face before dropping his forehead to hers. 

“You’re staying,” he sways into her and holds the back of her head. Her breath smells like bubblegum flavoured toothpaste. 

She has to know. She has to know that to him she’s the sun and every piece of his life revolves around her. She has to know he’s not crying with joy because he thinks she should stay in Pawnee, but because he gets to keep her. Some people are the type to risk everything for a kiss, but she has to know that’s not him. She has to know logically that would never seem worth it to him. Who would risk moments like this for one kiss? That was insanity. That was a cost-benefit analysis he could do in his sleep. This wasn’t everything, no, but it was enough, and maybe one day she’d feel the same and take the risk for both of him. She’d be brave for both of them, like always. 

They’re asleep in the middle of his bed before Henry gets back from his workout. She stays most of the weekend, they laugh harder than they have in a while, he makes her watch Battlestar Galactica and she doesn’t even tell Ann about Dave until Sunday afternoon when she’s getting ready to go home. 

On Monday morning Ben goes out for coffee and there’s a polaroid on the fridge. Leslie and him asleep under his navy comforter, her nose in the crook of his neck and his face obscured by her hair. At the bottom, there’s writing. 

_Take a risk, dumbass._

If only.


End file.
